


Connections

by Kobo



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types
Genre: 5 + 1, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M, My First Smut, NSFW, Smut, actually, bed sharing, so I apologize already
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 16:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10194392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kobo/pseuds/Kobo
Summary: Five people in the Rebellion who realized Jyn and Cassian were sharing a bed, and one time they enjoyed it.Inspired byRebelCaptainPrompts'Prompt #4: "One Bed".





	

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first first piece containing smut (you can thank/blame the lovely admins over at [RebelCaptainPrompts](https://rebelcaptainprompts.tumblr.com/) for that!), but the prompt was "One Bed" so where else could I go with that, honestly? 
> 
> This piece could also be titled "Well, I've done ever other cliche trope in the world, so now I need to do a 5+1 piece"

**(1) K-2SO:**

Cassian Andor, for all the positive attributes K-2SO would assign to the man, cannot awake to a chrono. Nightmares, enemy fire, the jolting of a ship: all those wake the Captain quite well. Just not the beeps of his chrono. In response to this problem, the droid took it upon himself to become Cassian’s personal wakeup call for morning briefings.

The system has worked with optimal success for many years. K-2 would enter the necessary passcode into Cassian’s door, announce his presence to Cassian, and within the fifteen minutes, the Captain could be presentable enough for mornings in the mess hall.

While the Scarif mission – or, more accurately, Cassian’s stay in medbay afterwards – had thrown the pattern off kilter, K-2SO assumed his duty would continue without problems.

He did not anticipate waking Jyn Erso as well as Cassian Andor the next morning. And based on the how the soft _whoosh_ of the door startles Jyn Erso into a sitting position on the bed, eyes alert and trained on the door like she is preparing to face an enemy, a beeping chrono would serve quite well to rouse her from sleep.

Droid and rebel stare for a moment before Jyn flops back down onto the pillows (about two inches away from Cassian’s face) with a deep sigh, mumbling something to the effect of _that damn droid_. Cassian never leaves the pillow, apparently quite content with the grumbling intruder in his bed.

The job then falls to K-2 to address the Wookie in the room. Must he always be the responsible one?

This, K-2 believes, is the type of moment where an organic would clear its throat.

“Jyn Erso.”

“Kaytuesso,” she replies in a mocking tone.

“These are not your quarters.”

Jyn snorts and says to Cassian, “Your droid is a sharp one.”

“Of course.” K-2SO is unfamiliar with the form Cassian’s lips curl into. In fact, he is 97% certain Cassian’s mouth has never taken that shape before. “I programmed him myself.”

“You are getting off topic.” _As humans often do_ , K-2SO grumbled to himself. Towering over the bed, he focuses his ocular lenses on Jyn Erso. “Why are you in the Captain’s quarters? In one bed?”

“Kay,” Cassian groans, rubbing his hand over his face like he does during particularly exasperating situations. “Jyn’s fine.”

“Jyn Erso should be in the quarters assigned to her.” The Captain is a smart man who understands protocol; this should not be difficult for him to understand.

“I asked her to be here, Kay.”

K-2 pauses for a moment, allows this information to work into his circuits. “But _why_?”

“His bed was cold,” Jyn pipes up. Her tone borders on sarcastic, however, so K-2 does not accept this explanation. He returns his gaze to Cassian.

“You have never complained about the temperature before,” he points out. “And if you are cold, why are you not wearing a shirt?”

Jyn Erso opens her mouth – no doubt another attempt at a witty comment fresh on her tongue – but Cassian stops her with a hand to her back.

“Really, Kay; there’s no need to worry about it.”

K-2SO straightens his back, nodding at the pair and preparing to leave the room, seeing how his morning mission of waking the Captain is complete.

But, no matter how Cassian reassures him, he worries.

* * *

 

**(2) Bodhi:**

“Why is Kaytu upset with you?” Bodhi asks from underneath an X-Wing. To be useful for the Alliance, he offered to inspect the fleet and repair the damage done over Scarif. He’s been at work since breakfast, and Jyn joined him half an hour ago, mainly providing tools and conversation.

Jyn huffs and Bodhi has never heard a noise be that sarcastic before. “When isn’t Kaytu upset with me?”

“Fair point,” Bodhi concedes. “What have you done most recently to upset Kay?”

“Probably something to do with finding me in Cassian’s room this morning.”

Rolling out from the fighter, Bodhi sends a confused glance towards Jyn. “Why would that upset him?”

“Beats me,” Jyn shrugs. “Apparently seeing his master in bed with someone else makes him jealous.”

Bodhi sits up so fast he hits his head on the metal frame of the X-Wing.

“One bed?” he squeaks.

A raised eyebrow answers him. “You knew we were sharing a room, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but…” Bodhi hesitates a second. “A lot of the barracks have multiple beds!” He defends himself, gesturing wildly with his hands. “I just assumed there were two beds.”

Jyn’s lips twist into a smirk at Bodhi’s innocence. No, she and Cassian had definitely just been in one bed last night.

“No, no...” Bodhi backs away from Jyn, hands up. “I know that look. I—I don’t want to know. Those details can stay between you and Cassian.” He gulps. “Really.”

Thinking back on last night, Jyn’s certain Bodhi made the right decision.

 

* * *

 

**(3) Mon Motha:**

Traditionally, Mon Mothma makes a point to avoid rousing any rebel out of their private quarters. They are, after all, considered _private_ for a reason. As a senator and a member of Alliance High Command, Mon doesn’t believe she has the right to invade those privacies.

But Princess Leia, Death Star plans in hand, has just contacted Yavin 4 after escaping the battle station itself and Captain Andor needs to be summoned to the War Room with haste. Just within her own thoughts, Mon considers this errand much more of a job for an aide than someone like her – _honestly,_ she berates herself, _this is not the time for such petty notions_ – but she is also quite certain General Draven created this mission for her as an excuse to remove her from the War Room temporarily, leaving the military (not the politically) minded behind to strategize.

When she reaches Captain Andor’s door, she knocks, feeling slightly guilty for waking the convalescing man at such an odd hour of the night.

Who’s she’s greeted by is not, in fact, Captain Andor, but instead a sleepy eyed, thoroughly rumbled brown haired woman. Both women stare at each other, Mon in shock – she frantically urges her eyes away from the man’s shirt that falls off the other woman’s shoulders – and Jyn Erso in sleepy confusion, followed by wide eyes and a quick attempt to pull the shirt back over her shoulder.

“Oh! Sergeant Erso!” She exclaims, schooling her expression (or, at least, making an effort to). “I apologize; I must have the wrong room…”

But that can’t be right; this is, after all, a wing of only officer’s quarters. Surely Jyn Erso wasn’t assigned here.

“Are you looking for Captain Andor?” Jyn asks. Mon gives the young woman credit; if she had been found wearing an officer’s shirt, in the officer’s quarters in the small hours of the morning, she would not be nearly as composed as Jyn Erso is in this moment. “He’s here, if you need him.”

The man in question appears – _thank the Maker,_ Mon quietly exhales, _he’s wearing a shirt_ – behind Jyn, gently putting his hand on her waist but otherwise at attention.

“Senator,” the Captain greets, all business. (Which, Mon reminds herself, is as she should be.) “What do you need?”

“I apologize for the hour, Captain, but Princess Leia has made contact, and you’re needed in the War Room immediately.”

But the neither of the rogues needed to hear the entire statement. Once the words “Princess Leia” left her mouth, the sleepy pair jumped to action. Cassian immediately reaches for his jacket and Jyn for her shoes before the Captain stops her with a hand to her arm.

“The War Room’s classified. They won’t let you in there,” he murmurs to her.

Jyn’s eyebrows shoot up into a defiant expression, and Mon remembers how poorly Jyn Erso takes “No” for an answer.

“I’ll send you word as soon as I know anything,” Cassian assures her, pulling on his own boots. “But you’ve got to stay here.”

Jyn responds too low to hear from the hallway, but Mon interprets the Captain’s slight smile – a rare sight indeed – to mean she agreed. Captain Andor reaches a hand to her face and Mon averts her eyes quickly, wishing to leave the intimate moment between the couple.

“After you, ma’am,” the Captain addresses her with a nod, hands folded behind his back.

“I’ll see to it that you receive updates on the situation, sergeant,” Mon assures Jyn.

As she takes in the young woman’s nod, the senator can’t help but sweep her eyes over the captain’s room to settle her probing curiosity. As she suspects, one Alliance standard issue bed sits pressed against the far wall.

Walking away from the room, her head held high in an attempt at her normal realm of professionalism (or, more accurately, an attempt to hide the blush covering her cheeks), Mon Mothma reaffirms her vows to leave the rebels’ private rooms _private_.

* * *

 

**(4) Chirrut:**

Base One’s energy is just one step below pure chaos. The plans to the Death Star have been handed over to Alliance scientists to search for Galen Erso’s weakness. High command and officers have been called into briefing sessions with Princess Leia over the battle station itself, leaving pilots and ground crew milling around base helpless but ready to move at a moment’s notice.

Chirrut searches through the high tension to find Jyn. She, more than most on the base, allows the weight of the Death Star and the loss of Alderaan to sit heavily upon her shoulders. Chirrut imagines she could use a friend and a much lighter topic of conversation. And since the rebels haven’t been inclined to be friendly to the Rogue One team, he volunteered himself to join the lost woman in solidarity.

He finds her in the mess, tension in her shoulders and an uneaten meal in front of her. Tight energies circle around her, swirling, a mixture of slow moving anger and flighty panic. Her finger pads tap across the table. Her head snaps up at his approach, though the slight disappointed exhale suggests Chirrut is not the one she waits for.

“Have you heard anything?” Jyn demands as he sits across from her.

A slight shake of his head, followed by a smile. “No, though I imagine you are much closer to a source of information than I am.”

Jyn gives no response to his words, tearing at a roll without eating.

“No news from the Captain, then?”

“Not since the Princess landed.”

“I’m certain he will find you when he is able.”

Jyn nods, the movement so absent-minded that Chirrut is unsure if it is a response to his statement or just nervous energy poking through. Jyn bites into the roll.

“The Princess chose a most inconvenient time to land, I understand.” Jyn’s confusion overtakes the other emotions, reaching towards Chirrut. “I understand sharing one bed has become a bit of a trend in the Rebellion.”

Chirrut grins, interpreting Jyn’s sudden inhalation of her food – and subsequent choking on it – to mean his assumption is correct.  Baze owes him twenty credits.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Jyn Erso may be a skilled liar – nowhere near Cassian Andor’s perfected spy mask, perhaps, but still skilled – but, blind eyes or not, Chirrut can feel her blush from across the table.

“Ah, Sergeant Erso,” Chirrut chides teasingly. “If you did not want anyone to know, you should not have scarred our poor pilot with too many details of yours and the Captain’s sleeping arrangements.”

Jyn scowled in response, though the effect was lost on Chirrut, since her rose colored embarrassment greets him more than the twist of her mouth.

“There’s nothing going on,” Jyn insists.

“Absolutely,” the monk agrees, but he doesn’t stop smiling.

_Ah, young love._

 

* * *

 

**(5) Han Solo:**

_Oh,_ Han thinks, surveying the room of raucous rebels, _I have definitely earned a reward._ With the kind of all out party these rebels are throwing, they’re bound to be immensely thankful for Han’s work in protecting that Luke kid. The kind of immensely thankful that translates to more than enough credits to get Jabba off his back and then get Han, Chewie and the _Falcon_ to the other side of the galaxy.

But if he’s still stuck on this jungle planet, waiting for the official medal ceremony and his reward, he may as well appreciate what these rebels have to offer. Like the glass of Corellian gin he’s holding. Or, maybe, (since apparently _her highness_ has better things to be doing with her time than thanking him) one of these lovely rebel ladies would enjoy _celebrating_ with him. Devilish good looks are good for more than charming bounty hunters, after all.

Across the room, a woman, not in Rebellion uniform like most people milling around, studies the room, much like Han. Her pose, relaxed against the wall, also mirrors Han. The hard set of her face and fierce determined look in her eye sets her apart from the other rebels who embraced the spirit of relaxation the moment the Death Star blew.

Grabbing another drink, Han starts across the room to her, only belatedly noticing the long-haired pilot standing next to her as he weaves his way through drunk rebels. Still, he continues his approach. She raises her head to meet Han’s eyes when he leans on the wall beside her.

“Your hands looked far too empty,” Han says, extending the gin towards the woman, his most charming smile in place. The woman raises an eyebrow at him, a smirk on her lips. She gives him a once over, the smirk intensifying, as if she can see right through him. The gin in Han’s hand gets ignored. “Not a drinker?” Han extends the drink to her once more. At a slight shake of her head, he downs the beverage himself. “Your loss.”

Still, she remains silent, turning back to face the room. Her pilot friend stays quiet. What was it with these rebels? First the princess decides Han is nothing more than a stain on her glowing white dress, and now this woman flat out ignores him. Han tries again, reaching his hand out to shake. “Han Solo.”

“I know who you are. You’re the captain of the _Millennium Falcon_.” Her tone is unimpressed, like he didn’t just prevent her Rebellion from becoming floating chunks of space rock.

“She speaks,” Han snorts and tries to retract his ignored hand. Before he can move, though, hands wrap around his wrist. Han turns, surprised, to see one of the officers – a captain, maybe? Han saw the man with Leia earlier – moving into the space between him and the cold woman. Han wrenches his wrist back from the man’s hold. “Woah, buddy. There’s nothing to get defensive over.”

“He’s fine, Cassian,” the woman assures the officer – _Cassian_ – as she moves a hand to his arm. “I was just leaving.”

Cassian nods, and the woman turns to Han for just a second. “But thanks for the drink.” She flashes him a quick smile before walking away, Captain Over-Protective’s hand on her lower back.

“What’s _his_ deal?” Han Solo may be a ladies’ man, but he wants his ladies to want him back; he wouldn’t do anything to a woman she didn’t want.

“They’re sorta…” The straggly pilot in an Imperial uniform (and what the _kriff_ is with that _?_ ) struggles for a second, deciding on a word. “Together, I guess.”

“What kind of together?” Han asks. Most men he knows don’t leave their girlfriends unattended in a room full of drunk and horny soldiers.

The pilot shrugs. “Recently together. Sharing one bed. I don’t know, really. Doubt they do, either.”

Han responds with an eye roll. This entire situation translates to “not worth his time” in big, capital letters. Miss Snarky and Captain What’s-his-name can enjoy their undefined relationship; he wants another drink.

 

* * *

 

**(+1) Jyn and Cassian:**

Cassian waits until he pulls her into his room to speak. “I’m sorry you couldn’t be in the War Room today.”

Jyn shrugs. “Problems of being not-really-Alliance. I know.”

“Actually,” Cassian smirks and gestures to the desk where her new Alliance fatigues sit, folded in a pile. “If you hadn’t enlisted, command might have allowed you in there, but as a member of SpecForce, you weren’t getting in.”

Jyn removes her boots and relaxes onto Cassian’s bed, matching his smirk. “Hence why acting outside the law is the much better option.”

Jyn expects Cassian to move to join her, but he leans into his desk, arms crossed, instead. “Jyn…” he begins, and she can already tell he wants to lead this conversation down a path she does not want to follow. “The Death Star…”

“Don’t,” she cuts him off. “I can’t do this. Not right now.”

He nods, but continues to stare at her. After a second, he sighs, shucking off his jacket and boots before joining her on the bed, lying flat on his back. Jyn curls into his side, running her fingers down the planes of his chest.

“Thank you,” Jyn whispers as she presses a kiss to his jaw.

“Hmm,” Cassian hums, and Jyn can feel the vibrations in his throat. “For what?”

“Understanding.”

He takes that as enough of an answer, turning to kiss her. His lips are light, the kiss meant to be gentle and chaste, but Jyn has been overrun by a harsh flurry of emotions all day and craves a release. She bites his bottom lip, forgoing all pretense of gentleness, and grabs a fistful of his hair. Though she’s only had the last few days to experience this side of Cassian Andor, Jyn’s survived by being a quick learner; the best way to _inspire_ Cassian is by force, showing him exactly what she wants and taking charge.

The knowledge stays true tonight: Cassian follows her rough lead, grabbing for her hips to pull her on top of him. Jyn complies, straddling his middle. His hands reach to frame her face, tilting her head so his tongue can probe inside her mouth, battling with hers.

Jyn sits up to pull her shirt over her head, followed by her breast band. Cassian’s eyes widen and she hears his words from their first night together – _Jyn, you’re beautiful_ –  inside her head but she kisses him before he can say them again. Emotions have stalked her all day; the last thing she wants is to tangle with them now.

Cassian seems to get the hint, moving his lips in time with hers. He sits up slowly, settling Jyn in his lap. She sighs when his erection pokes into her thigh and, with a slight twitch of her hips, aligns her core over it. Cassian’s groans tumble through her, and she her muscles tighten in response. Cassian breaks their kiss to claw his own shirt off. When he moves his lips back to her, they land along her throat, trailing down to the dip in her clavicle. His hands brush up along her sides, causing a shudder to roll through her muscles, and land on the undersides of her breast. He pauses there and Jyn groans in response, shifting her torso so that he’ll just _touch_ the hard nipples.

Cassian chuckles against her throat, the stubble of his beard lightly scraping the sensitive skin. “I’m sorry,” he teases, “did you want something?”

In response, Jyn snakes one of her hands down to his lap, shifting her hips to give her better access to him. Cassian hisses as she strokes his erection over his pants and she smirks right back at him. “Do _you?_ ”

“Point taken.” He moves his entire body upwards, his lips meeting Jyn’s and his hands grabbing for her breasts. He rolls his fingers over her nipples, and part of Jyn wants to throw her head back and let him continue however he wants.

But she knows surrendering control means he’ll continue to torture her, draw out every kiss and touch, always too soft and too much simultaneously, holding her orgasm just out of reach.

Jyn forces her mind away from Cassian’s deft hands and reaches her hands to his belt buckle. She kisses him as she unbuttons his pants and reaches past his underwear to grab him. Cassian’s head falls into the juncture between her neck and shoulder, a moan of her name escaping his lips. His breathing hitches as she begins to move her hand hard and fast against him.

“Ah, Jyn,” he hisses, reaching his hands to grab her wrist. “No, I want – with you.”

His words are broken, but Jyn understands the meaning. She removes her hands from his underwear and leans up on her knees. In a moment, Cassian shoves his pants and underwear to the foot of the bed while Jyn pulls down on hers. Once they’re naked – Jyn allows herself a moment to revel in the feel of his naked skin sliding against hers – Cassian pulls her flush against his chest, kissing her as one hand sneaks to her clit, Jyn’s hips bucking in an automatic response. She places her hands on his shoulders for purchase as she lifts herself up. Cassian, following her silent instructions, uses his free hand to align himself with Jyn’s entrance. She sinks onto him, and their answering moans match.

Screwing her eyes shut to focus on the movement, Jyn begins to rock her hips, up and down, up and down, using Cassian’s moans as her guide. Soon, his hips thrust in time with hers, their bodies slapping against each other.

Jyn throws her head back and Cassian takes the opportunity to bite his way along her neck and jaw, soothing each sting with his tongue. Jyn increases the pace while Cassian’s fingers continue to rub circles along her clit, but it just isn’t _enough_.

“Open your eyes, Jyn. Look at me,” Cassian growls into her ear. She obeys without question, gazing into his deep brown eyes and she feels the tension in her gut tighten. One of Cassian’s hands reaches to cup the side of her head, pushing back the loose strands of hair. His other hand presses insistently into her clit and Jyn forces her fluttering eyelids to remain open. Cassian smiles and murmurs the same words she avoided hearing earlier and Jyn feels the tension explode within her. She goes still with the force of her orgasm, turning to mush in Cassian’s arms. Her head falls onto Cassian’s shoulder, and his follows suit, lightly biting the joint. Cassian continues to pump his hips into hers for a few more thrusts before stilling and Jyn can feel him coming inside of her.

For a moment, neither moves, completely entangled in each other, until Cassian sucks in a deep breath and pulls out of her, leaning the pair back against the pillows. He wraps one hand around Jyn’s waist, pulling her securely to his side, and the other pulls the blankets up around them. Cassian presses a light kiss to Jyn’s hairline.

Jyn has lost all energy and will to move, content to stay in this position forever, but her mind wanders, thoughts of the day flooding back into her head.

“Hmm,” Jyn sighs into Cassian’s slightly sweaty shoulder. “Definitely can’t do that in two beds.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feel free to come chat with me on Tumblr! I'm [RxbxlCaptain](https://rxbxlcaptain.tumblr.com/) :)


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